S.o.A : Respect or cult following (jess and Asma)

There's respect and there's cult following. I respect her. She's badass, she's kind, she's fucking adorable.

But gosh, no! No cult following! she does make mistakes. She sometimes gets carried away by her fear and worries. She sometimes gets angry and lashes out without control. She sometimes overthinks and makes up stories in her head. She sometimes doesn't feel honest with herself and tells lies to her heart, lies you can read on her face. Ah! my favorite is, she's upset but she won't let you know why and would stubbornly pretend for a day or a week. Sometimes she's petty and she knows it, sometimes she's needy and she knows it. Sometimes she's very quiet. Not the charming, cute, polite quietness of some people but the one that tends to hide thunderstorms in her head.

And when she does that and some more, I get to call her out. I get to talk her out of it, or into sharing what she's been holding back. I get to listen to her pleas, to her grieves, to her disappointment. I get to see curl into a ball and scream into a pillow her frustration. I get to run my fingers through her hair to calm her down or create a good environment for her to talk to me. I get to do all that and so much more.

I don't blindly follow, I question.

I don't blindly follow, I reason.

I don't blindly follow, I care about and call you out.

I get to do that because I care

I get to do that because I love

Pride and Asma: A weakness in me

There's a weakness in me I only find when he is in front of me.

The sweet tingle in my loins, my legs that refuse to support me any longer, my heart beating faster and harder against my ribcage.

There is a weakness in me I only find when he's near me. unnerving me with his magnetic presence, taunting me with his delicate overwhelming scent, setting me on fire from all of those kisses.

There is a weakness in me when he pins me against the nearest wall and press into me. I can feel our bodies mold into one another, adjust to our shapes so we could feel like we complete each other like we belong to each other.

There is a weakness in me I only find when he's saying my name in the most perfect way. That moment when he embraces himself, as a king who would rule over his subject. As one whose mere presence is enough to control my very being. As one whose hand around my throat has more value than a thousand words.

He is back home with me, enjoying what would be the last of us....

The last of me

//All usual disclaimer!

MNB: Come as you are part 3: Maturity/ Let's panic together (Irina/Asma again)

A/N: So this takes place after Zeus got hit at this night event. Paparazzis are going crazy on him and camp outside of Tartarus buildings. Irina heard about the fight and decided to come visit him to give him some support and this is how the two love interests meet for the first time. This scene takes place after they met and just show the relationship between Irina and Zeus. (some of it)

Part1: first meeting

Part2: Compromise (Zeus and Irina and a little bit of Asma)

Part3: Maturity/let's panic together (Irina and Asma talking)

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Irina left Zeus office and went to the women's restroom in order to freshen up before her appointment. Her conversation with her fiancé went well and the blonde was hoping that the incident he was involved in a few weeks ago would be forgotten. It was difficult to escape from the paparazzi given how much they were preying on Zeus and his antics but Irina was hopeful. People eventually would get bored of him. What crime did he commit if not just be the son of one the most despicable men of America? His father conned people and stole their money. He preyed on the rich and the poor without discrimination and enriched himself in the process.

He was apprehended and put in jail after he pleaded guilty but that wasn't enough to calm the public's anger towards the man. They extended their hatred to his son. Ever since Hercules was incarcerated, Zeus had to fend for himself and fight tooth and nail to make a brand new reputation. The public was on a fence with him, hesitating between hating him because he was his father's son or hating on him because of his abrasive personality. They were completely disregarding the fact his company was not only legit since he took it over, but also gave back to the people who were spoiled by his father. Could he give that money back? Not really, his father conned thousands of people and refunding them was impossible. However, he invested hundreds of thousands of dollars into local companies that specifically were designed to help the most the people.

Yes, he fought against that other celebrity because he disrespected her and Irina couldn't help but find this chivalrous. As she went to the restroom to make sure her makeup was on point, she heard the noise of flushed toilets and saw Asma who left one of the boxes. Unaware of Irina's presence, she arranged her skirt for a few minutes before she headed towards the sink to wash her hands. Asma froze when she saw Irina, at a clear loss of words.

« You can come closer. I'm not going to eat you, I promise. » Irina joked while she took some lipstick from her purse and opened it. Asma took a deep breath and poured some soap all over her hands.

« I don't mean to disrespect you. I just.. I never thought I'd actually meet you someday. » And she had wished she never did. It already was horrible to endure Tom's taunts every day at the office, but it had been worse to eventually meet the reason of those taunts. Irina was sweet and kind. It might have been the first time they met each other, but Asma was an excellent judge of character and Irina was far from being vapid or self-centered. She glanced at Asma who was now washing her soaped hands and grinned at her.

« You're not disrespecting me. You've been spending the last few months with my fiancé and he is quite a lot to handle. I meant my words earlier. I am grateful you're around him because ever since you entered his life, he's become more... Mmhh relaxed. » She said, pursing her lips to make sure the lipstick was well applied. « I like him better this way. He's been worried almost all of his life and when it became tougher for him, you know when the public started to associate him with his father's crimes and seek for blood., they made him cruel. They made him angry and he started to lash out in spectacular fashion. » Her sweet blue eyes stopped at Asma's face while her hands rested on the sink before her.

« You love him huh ?.. » Asma didn't think twice as her lips worked faster than her brain.

Irina looked at her and blushed slightly. A quick nod of her head answered Asma's question. Of course, she loved Zeus. She had six years to get to know him and being one of the only few he allowed to be close to his heart felt like a privilege. He was a kind soul, a golden heart hidden by thorns and fire but one who would protect you fiercely if he cared about you. He cared a great deal about her, hence why he got in trouble in the first place. She fell in love with him over the years as she understood his soul a lot better and matured herself, on his sides. Asma expected the semi-confession to sting worse than a stingray but it didn't. It actually brought her peace. Irina knew Zeus, she was sincere in her love for the man and Asma could see that love radiate from her. Irina was relaxed when she talked about Zeus, her voice sounded warmer and if she paid attention, Asma could see that the blonde supermodel was breathing a lot harder. Her torso was heaving faster as Irina got flustered. How could Asma hate her?

She turned off the tap and grabbed some toilet paper to dry her hands. Her eyes averted from Irina to the mirror in front and tucked some hair behind her ear. She fell in love with Zeus and if she was honest with herself, loving someone implied she had to make sure they were happy. She had to make sure Zeus was and being with Irina was his choice. She made him happy, and because she did, Asma had to step aside and let him be happy. Her eyes betrayed her sadness as she kept drying her hands. It was painful for her, to force herself to give up on Zeus but it was the most mature decision she could take. Irina cleared her throat and gently put her hand over Asma's arm.

« You're taking such a good care of him Asma. I wanted to thank you for that. »

« I—I don't know what to say to that... I am just doing my job. »

« You have a good influence on him. You should take the compliment. » She said in a soft giggle before her hand stroked Asma's arm and she grabbed her purse. « I wish I could stay longer but I actually have an appointment in half an hour. I would have to leave but we should meet someday, just the two of us so we could talk about Zeus? I would love to. See you around. » She said with a warm smile on her lips.

« See you around. » Asma gave her a tight crooked smile and watched as the blonde left.

Her eyes were wide open and it only was because of her hands, now curled into fists, were hurting that the young woman realized that she was holding back. It hurt since the nails had pierced the skin and it forced Asma to put her hands in a cold stream of water. She was breathing heavily and felt her heartbeats go faster against her ribcage. The conversation was so casual and so charming that it turned her insides upside down. The enemy here wasn't Irina. It wasn't even Zeus. He was on a break when the kiss happened. He was single, technically so they didn't do anything wrong. In his efforts to regain Irina's affection and move on from learning Margot was heavily pregnant, he proposed to the blonde three days after she confessed her feelings to him. How could it not burn? How could it not hurt? Even now, right after she decided that the best thing she could do for both Zeus and herself, would be to let him pursue his life of happiness with Irina and not interfere. They loved each other, Asma was just a detail in their history, well at least she tried to rationalize that in front of the mirror. The tears that were dry a few minutes ago, fell once again and she used her cell phone to text Madeleine.

#Irina left, I have to return to the Boss. We've just met right after I peed. She likes me, of all people, she likes me. I decided to let this go. You were right. I have to.# She then waited for a text from her best friend who quickly responded.

#Yeah? She likes you? Talk about irony. Yeah, do yourself a service. Afterworks later? Girl, you need to drink! #

#Sounds like a plan. C U!#

She said as she put her phone back into her pocket. Her hand nervously ran through her dyed pink locks and she finally sobbed in silence. She knew her broken heart was still being broken and would need a lot more time to heal from that event. Running away from her feelings wasn't a solution anymore, so she wouldn't. Instead, she intended to go through the heartbreak like she should. A couple of sad songs, the company of friends and her best friend and maybe a rebound. Nothing happened with Zeus and nothing would so why put her heart into a twist? She was young, she could get over it. He used her pager to summon her into his office, so she knew that she would have to clean her face and hide all evidence of her turmoil. She wiped her tears off of her face and took another deep breath. She looked great, a gentle pinch on her chocolate cheeks, a subtle chew on her bottom lip and a dash of confidence would help her face her boss.

Little did she know that it only was the beginning of a more complicated dynamic. Little did she know.

(TBC)

SoA: Bloody goodbyes

A/N: Ah! Finally bringing a conclusion to that huge-ass arc. Oscar had been an ominous presence ever since Asma entered the scene and literally some two years later there is a resolution:p I woke up with the urge to write that scene, so here you are:D Jessica belongs to my friend C. this version of Asma belongs to me.

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Teller household, 2 pm:

Abel and Thomas had been living with Nyx for about two weeks now. It was a measure Jessica had to take in order to protect the boys from a potential assault from Oscar. Of course, she always took Asma with her for a daily visit that lasted all day until it was time to go home. It wasn't a situation anyone liked, but it was necessary to ensure the safety of the kids. Nobody at home slept well. Jessica had troubles finding sleep because Jax was way too far away and she had no clue about what was happening or why they left Charming all of a sudden. All she knew was that the knights went with him and somehow, it soothed the pain and worries of the brunette's mind. Her husband wouldn't be alone out there. She would -through the Knights- be with him and ensure his safety. It also was a very big leap of faith they were taking because for the first time the Knights and the Sons were riding together under the same banner -so to speak-, under the same Leader -technically, he still wasn't but that was beside the point here-.

Asma couldn't sleep because her ex-fiancé was in town, angry and determined to take her back. Her skin crawled at the thought of spending one more day in the presence of that monster. She had taken enough abuse as it was from his hand but at the same time felt guilty for throwing her shit at Jessica's face. In reality, it didn't happen this way. Asma tried to leave and Jessica made her stay. Jessica knew the risks and still urged Asma to stay with her so but it was difficult to reason with Asma as long as she was petrified by fear, so Jessica let go of that detail for the moment. Finally, she fell asleep on Jessica's lap after a short disagreement between the two -Asma stubbornly pretended she didn't need to sleep, despite it being obvious-. The dogs all gathered around the two women as if to protect them from danger.

Jessica was reading a book about newborn babies when she heard a noise. It was early in the afternoon and there was nobody in that kitchen. Yet she heard the clear noise of a broken glass from upstairs. She gently ran her hand over Asma's pink locks and moved her head around so her friend would be sleeping on a pillow rather than her legs. Someone broke in! Oscar broke in, obviously! Jessica turned the light off and searched beneath her pillow for a semi-automatic gun. Jessica always slept with a gun under her pillow for situations like these. Anybody with a grudge against Jax or herself could very easily attack the house and she had to be prepared. Since Asma asked for help, she sent her to the basement because it was the safest place for her to be in the case of an attack. Quietly walking the stairs up after she commanded the dogs to stay put, Jessica paid attention to the noise. There was a silence in the house that made every noise, even a single one, sound like a parade so she had to be careful. The kids were not home so she knew there was no toy left on the floor to step on. Her eyes averted from left to right as her head peeked through the basement's door.

He was good. Good enough not to make a noise when he entered the house, but he wasn't to his advantage here. She knew the place by heart and therefore would not let him surprise her. Walking carefully, guns pointed down for a better visibility, the queen or charming headed to the kitchen. She found a vase that was put near the door on purpose. She was working on composing a new bouquet for the day and thought that the best place for a vase as big as this one would be near the door to the left since it was barely used to enter the kitchen. Someone who wasn't familiar with the house would use that door and of course, Oscar did. It made her furrow her brows as she heard noises coming from the living room. It was just right in the kitchen. Her heartbeats went faster, not from fear but from adrenaline as she realized it had been such a long while since she ever held a gun. This mission was different from her contracts. She wasn't hired to begin with. She wasn't forced to kill someone who bothered someone else. She didn't have to kill to avenge someone else's personal interest.

She was protecting someone. She was protecting her friend. Brief flashes of the night with Wendy came back into her mind as she carefully pushed the door open and glance past it to check on Oscar. Wendy's death was definitely different from the rest. She had put the boys in danger, threatened to destroy her family. Jessica went after her like a female wolf after her cubs. She was protecting her children. Yet, it destroyed her to pull the trigger on the drug addict. It wasn't so much for her, per say, but for how it would impact on her baby boys. After all, Wendy was the mother of one of them and Jessica snuffed her life. When the kids would be old enough to ask questions, she didn't know how to handle the answer. She didn't want them to hate her for what she did and knew she was justified in killing Wendy. Yet her hands still felt dirty. She still couldn't wash that blood off of her hands. Today was different.

Today Jessica was excited. She wasn't bloodthirsty, all the opposite. He would have been alive if he didn't try to take her friend by force but he chose to attack and like a wolf with its pack, Jessica would protect Asma. If she was excited, it was because once again, she was given the opportunity to prove she could be a better version of herself. She could throw herself into the fire if that meant saving someone she cared about. And she cared about Asma! The poor woman had been through hell for way too many years to have Jessica even think about letting her go back there. She cringed when she heard the stories Asma told her, she wept with her friend as she shared her pain and there was no way in all hell that she would just sit idly by and wait for Oscar to rip Asma from the comfortable and stable life she had made for herself. NO ! Jessica realized that she loved to be the protector. She loved using her skills for good. Not that morals really bothered her, a job was a job and money was always green. It just felt good to genuinely protect others. A smile crept on her lips as she finally entered the living room. She was hoping to see Oscar inside but he wasn't there or maybe he was faster than she initially thought he would be. She heard footsteps coming from behind and turned around, her gun pointing at the intruder.

« I have to say, you got me. » Oscar said, a wide grin creeping on his lips. « The first time I thought you were just a suburban Stepford mum, but it seems that there is more than meets the eye. » He said, holding a large butcher knife he took from the kitchen.

« You better not make a move until I say so, fucker! How dare you break into my home? » She asked, her upper lip barely containing her anger at him. He chuckled and licked his lips, his eyes gleaming in a funny unsettling way. He wasn't scared by the gun. How could he be if he was as crazy as Asma described? « What's funny? »

« You're still trying to scare me. » He said as he pushed his head to the side and hit her arm so she would shoot at the wall behind him. Shit ! He really was fast ! Jessica tried to adjust her aim but he slapped her arm so hard that she dropped the gun. She could see it fly by and roll onto the kitchen floor. Shit ! Jessica then blocked the hand that held the knife with her arms crossed together and while she tried to disarm him, he punched her face hard enough to draw blood to her mouth She struggled with him as he punched her again and finally hit right below his throat, cutting some air from him and making him drop the knife. He took several steps back and shook his head. She spat the blood onto the floor and wiped it with the back of her hand before she twirled the knife in her hand.

« You shouldn't have come here! Asma is never going back to you. » She warned him as she ran towards him. Oscar had recovered from her stunt and, as she tried to stab him, he dodged the knife. She tried to stab him, but he pushed her hand with his, so she kicked his belly. It made him step back, so she kicked again, harder this time. The man stumbled so she tried kicked his face and made him fall on his back. « You should have stayed home, asshole, and cry your miserable life out! »

She said as she straddled him and held onto the knife tighter while the other hand was squeezing his neck to keep him on the floor. She would stab him, that would be messier than with a bullet in between the eyes but the gun was way too far. Jessica lifted her hand but before she was about to sink the knife into his shoulder, he punched her sides. It wasn't the front belly but it was still the belly and it stunted her. Before anything went south and she lost the advantage, she threw the knife under the couch and quickly hopped off of his lap. Oscar grinned and stood up. His mouth bleeding from the previous kicks she gave him. He took a handkerchief that was in his pocket while Jessica was screaming in pain. The noise made the dogs howl and made Oscar chuckle. Asma woke up in the middle of the noise. She couldn't sleep due to the dogs barking louder and louder. They weren't rested and kept barking and walking in circles. Asma sat on the bed, her pink locks cascading onto her back. Her eyes shifted from left to right as she got adjusted to the darkness. She heard a grunt way too familiar and her body froze. She heard him laugh. He was loud, louder than usual because he wanted her to hear him.

Her eyes were wide open in the dark, her hands held onto the sheets and she felt fear sink into her bones. She couldn't move, despite hearing the screams of Jessica who was contorted in pain. The punch on her belly shook her to the core and hurt the brunette so much that she couldn't think it was possible to stand back up. She slid on the floor, using her left arm to push herself away from him. Her eyes flashed anger as she watched Oscar quietly walk towards her. His laughter was both making her angry and gave her chills.Once he cleaned his mouth, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her towards the kitchen. Jessica held onto his hand with one hand while the other stayed around her belly. Was the baby okay? The hit wasn't /that/ hard but she wasn't sure and panic settled in her eyes along with anger. She was angry because she let hubris took over and even angrier at him for even thinking about touching her unborn baby. He took her to the kitchen? Good, she knew she would find a way to turn the tables as soon as he would put her on the floor. Around her neck, there was a custom guitar chip. There was a blade blended with the wood so if she turned it around she would have a custom tiny knife.

« You bitch! You had to come around and put yourself in between Asma and I. I would have spared your ass if you simply handed her over to me. How long has she been here anyway? A year? A year and a half? Not enough to build lasting bonds. » He lifted the woman by the hair and slammed her against the fridge. Jessica kicked in the air but he didn't move one inch. Jessica was in an excruciating pain but she forced herself to keep her eyes open.

« You want to know why I'm protecting her from a scumbag like you? » He nodded, all the while his other hand searched for another knife. He was right in between the fridge and the drawers where the utensils were.

« Ahahah, please enlighten me! » He said mockingly while Jessica pulled her necklace off of her neck while he wasn't looking. He wouldn't notice that the necklace was gone. He wouldn't notice when she opened it to turn it into a lethal weapon. He didn't notice when she held it tightly in her fist. His hand on her neck wasn't choking her since he wanted to stab her to death but it made her breathing more uncomfortable. Jessica chuckled. It was both a nervous reaction to the situation and the sight of him she imagined in her mind.

« She's under my protection, asshole! I promised to protect her with all I have. You said that I have only known her for a year as if time meant something. It's a ride or die story. » She said, scanning the floor to see where her gun fell. « And you're not part of it! »

She said, taking him by surprise and stabbing him right in the chin strap. She hit it without counting. One, twice, again and again, and again without stopping. Blood splattered her face, soaked up her fingers and even coated her hair but she didn't care. He bled quite fast and released her neck to cover the wound with his hand. He fell onto the floor and crawled to grab her gun. She sat and aimed the gun at Oscar. In his rage, the giant man didn't think straight. He followed Jessica, a knife in his hand and the other around her neck to stop the bleeding. Just as he nearly fell on her, knife first, she shot his chest three times and then his neck. He dropped the knife and fell next to her. Bleeding profusely to his death.

Jessica's white shirt was drenched in blood and her pants were stained but it was Asma who screamed at the sound of gunshots. Jessica's ear adjusted to the sound and she shut her eyes and yanked her head back. Her belly was still hurting, but the pain was slowly fading away. She would examine her belly after the shower she would take and would go see a doctor on the same day to check on the baby. Eventually, she would learn that her baby was fine despite her bruises. She looked at the chip she still had in her hand and noticed the small cuts on her palm as she kept on stabbing Oscar. Jessica then looked at the dying man bleeding to death that was on her left.

« You, son of a bitch. My kitchen is ruined! » She grumbled under her breath before she heard the dogs bark louder. Asma shouldn't see that mess. She wouldn't stand the sight of it. She wouldn't be able to handle all of that blood. « Fuck! » She said, running her hand through her chocolate locks. « That bitch almost got me. » She said feeling her throat burn, her sore muscles, her bruises all over her body. Her mind was already thinking about calling her guys to help clean that crime scene and make the body disappear and thought to herself that Asma needed to say her piece to his corpse before they got rid of it. As usual, there was a lot of planning to do and Asma would need a lot of support. She was still pissed off because Asma, whose screams she heard earlier, might have just been traumatized by the event. She'd have to check on with her, make sure it wouldn't make her relapse just as bad as knowing he was in town did to her. « Fucker! Even dead you're a fucking problem! » She kicked his body, eliciting a desperate dying moan before she knelt on the floor and bent forward him. « I want you to die knowing that Asma would lead a better life than you could ever give her. I want you to die.. knowing that you got your ass kicked by the queen of charming, Jessica Darling. I want.. » She paused. « I want you to know that I am going to end you, not for Asma this time but for my baby. » He couldn't speak and she didn't care about it. « Yeah... you might be bleeding out like a bitch, I still want to be the one who actively took your breath away. You hit me in the belly. You fucking did it. » She said grabbing the knife he tried to stab her with.

His hazel eyes looked at her with panic in them but Jessica's face turned sinister as she quietly approached the knife to his throat. The man's breathing became heavier and faster but she held his jaw tightly with one hand. He could see the fury in her eyes and the thirst for blood. After all, he was a stranger who broke into her home and tried to kill her and kidnap her friend. He would have tortured Asma in ways she didn't want to imagine but he never could because she stopped him before. However, he did hurt her and the baby so she would claim his fucking life. Slowly but surely she inserted the knife into his throat, forcing the sharp blade into the flesh of the human who bled onto the cold steel. It wasn't a pretty death at all. It probably was one of the most gruesome she ever performed and one who brought her satisfaction. He died there and then, stabbed in the middle of the kitchen. The pregnant woman remained on the floor, unable to find the strength to stand back up after such an intense effort. Adrenaline still kicked in, but it mostly works in ways to make her feel less in pain. She ran her bloody hand through her wet hair and cursed again under her breath before she knelt and then stood back up. Asma heard the noise, she was terrified and she needed to be reassured. So she screamed.

« It's over! I told you that I would protect you. Stay in the basement Asma. I'm taking a shower and I'll call the guys so they can clean up the mess alright? » But there was no response, so she repeated the sentence, louder this time, which made the dogs bark louder. « I'll be right after I'm clean myself. Hold on a sec! » She said as she walked towards the shower for a well deserving hot shower.

You don't cross the queen

You don't hurt the queen

You don't try to hurt her loved ones

Or else, prepare for a shitstorm to hit you when you least expect it.

And not live to tell the tale.

(TBC)

DOYA: possessive

(Oya) Possessive

//all usual disclaimer! it's just a character piece :)

Possessive: It's an adjective. Oya was possessive, but only to things of great value. Her golden sculpted Desert Eagle was of great value and you would have to pry it from her cold hands. It wasn't so much the fact it was indeed, a golden gun and the rarity of its design made it a fabulous piece to own. It was the sentimental value that made it priceless. The gun was a gift from her father on his deathbed. He himself, received it from his best friend after the latter died and insisted on giving it to his only daughter. The memories tied to that shiny and lethal object made it impossible for her to even lend it to Dean. So he never asked. Same as she never asked about driving Baby because she knew how much important the Impala was for Dean.

Possessive: It often goes hand in hand with the fierce need to protect and preserve her loved ones. Oya valued her relationships and the people she allowed in the wild place that was her heart. They weren't too many, she could count them on the fingers of one hand but they were more than enough.Dean, Sam, and Castiel were among the people she was the closest to. She could give them the world if they asked for; She would fiercely protect them if it came to that and beware her wrath if you tried to take them away from her. They were her family, for better or for worse and like a wolf who found its pack she would defend hers until her last breath. While fairly independent in her relationships, there still was this territoriality that never missed an opportunity to cause her troubles. She never shied away from a battle. She usually was the first one to punch whoever tried to take her loved ones away from her -or simply desire them-. Just Ask Dean and the many incidents caused by his violent angry little gremlin!

Possessive: It defined her. To some extent, it was healthy for her to be territorial because that was the only way for you to know that she truly cared. And she did. She was observant, she paid attention to details and she had the memory to go with it. Oya usually didn't forget. But like all things, too much of it could become a problem. Sometimes, she was afraid to lose her loved ones. She was afraid that being who she was would drive them away but even more that Death would snatch them from her. Those fears were rooted deeply in the life she had before. The deaths she had to witness, those she couldn't prevent. She was aware of them and tried to keep them in check. But the fear of being abandoned again was driving her. And relapses and mistakes weren't off the table.

Yes, she was possessive. If there was a flaw to trump them all, it would be her possessivity because it was forged by fear and rooted in tragedy. She had a desire to keep around her the people she loved and ensure their happiness and existence. She was possessive and stubborn enough to rather sacrifice herself than see any of them die. She was possessive to the point of protecting her newfound love with her teeth and nails if it came to it.

Oya wasn' very t proud of being that possessive. She knew it could get in the way in her budding relationship with Dean or frankly any other person. Hell, her possessivity had her chase an angel to send it back to Heaven. An angel who could have been extremely powerful to the point of smiting her to nothingness but she still went after it. That possessivity had her chase after the Asanbosam who possessed her brother and killed her mother in front of her. She traveled all the way to America and nearly got herself killed because she didn't want Dean to be hurt -among other reasons-.Possessivity had her verbally assault a woman who tried to woo Dean because she couldn't handle the idea of losing him to someone else.

Thing was... This relationship was above any other ones and she couldn't afford to lose this one.

He was a newfound love in the chaos that was her life.

And boy that was hard to love him, hard to let him love her but it was worth the effort. He was worth everything.

The king without a crown (Elpis/Pride)

//it's a stretch. He does have one but it's very difficult to govern since so many enemies are trying to destroy him.//

When she met him, millennia ago, Pride was not a king just yet. He was a piece of Hade's divine chessboard. He was a tool, for lack of better words but already then, he wanted to set himself free. He didn't want to be used, made and unmade by the god on a whim. She was aware of his project and she wanted him to succeed. Pride was already her king, even without a crown.

Millennia later the situation was still the same. Pride took the crown from Hades and crowned himself king of the Underworld. Technically, he became a king but he still didn't have the realm. Resistance proved to be harder to squash than he initially thought. His own siblings decided to plot against him and overthrow the newly self-crowned king. It had to be anticipated and he had, but he didn't know that he would escape from death more than he should have. There again, they were sins, not mere mortals or other gods. They could hurt him and they would try anything to achieve that goal and make it permanent.

He was a king without a realm, even though he already had won the goddess heart. He won /her/ realm and had done so millennia ago when they first met. His darkness called out for hers. Her light revealed a softer side of his. -softer, yet still merciless-. And she had always known from the beginning that if she were to choose a king, it would be the one without a realm.

He was a king

He was /her/ king

SoA (Jessica and Asma) "I feel safe"

(SoA)

"I feel safe."

I uttered those words as she had her arms wrapped around my frame. They didn't come easily to me.I never truly felt safe in my life up until this day. Since I arrived at Charming, I always looked past my shoulder in search for danger. I always paid attention to details because if anything felt odd, chances were that Oscar was following me.

Every step I took forward, I took several backward because I couldn't plan my future. Every time I tried to open up and bond with others, I couldn't because their lives could be in danger. Ever since my brother was murdered.... I thought I never would feel safe again.

But she made me feel this way. I cannot describe or explain how she did that. We weren't the best of friends when we met, I was prejudiced, she was guarded. I learned to know her through the eyes of her now-husband Jax Teller. If he hadn't come to my shop and ask for inks, I would never have met her. Funny how Destiny works eh?

She didn't moonwalk into my life, she crashed opened the walls I have built around myself. I thought I had it under control but I didn't. I fell for her, for this friendship of ours that blossomed over the year we spent together. And little by little, she brought pieces of herself to my broken castle. A stone here, a stone there and now that I can finally take a look back, we made ourselves a pretty kick-ass lair! a superhero lair!

"You do?" she asked. I nodded quietly and she pressed her lips on top of my forehead. "Good, that's how it's supposed to be. You, feeling safe by my sides."

"I don't think you understand just how important it is," I said, teasing her and leaning my chin on her shoulder. she laughed.

"OH, honey. I know more than you think I do. You and I are kinfolks. Wolves that had been cornered and lived to survive. We believed we weren't made for anything else than bite and claw to keep standing. We weren't used to genuine trust were we?" I nodded and leaned my forehead against her shoulder again. "And yet, here we are. Here I am...I never stopped fighting, but I'm sure as hell done living to survive. I live to live. Jax gave me that. genuine trust and love. A place to call home, a family of our own. He somehow had me grounded but NOT on a leash. You know what I'm saying?" I nodded once again. "I'm still a wolf Azz. I'm still very capable of running into the wilderness once again and live like I used to, but I don't want to. I want to stay here and write I love you's. I want to make him wake up in the morning and enjoy the minute of silence by his sides. I want to kiss him goodbye every single day and kiss him welcome home. I trust him. I trust us and that is priceless, coming from someone like me. So yeah! I know what you're saying when you say you feel safe."

"Geez! And now you're speaking Shakespear to me again!" I teased her and let my hand rub her belly. "I love you, Jess. I cannot word it the way I want to. But I am grateful you came into my life. I feel like I'm finally starting to live and not survive."

"Wait until everything is over and Tig comes back so you can really live." She chuckled and kissed the top of my head again as I laid there next to her. I felt safe.

I feel safe.

SoA: Oscar is lurking

His first meeting with the queen of Charming didn't go as he planned. He wanted to scare her enough so she would hand Asma over to him. He tried to look more intimidating than he already looked like, tried to look taller and larger than life but she didn't care.

She didn't even shudder at his sight. This small slender woman -despite being visibly pregnant- ignored him and pretended she didn't know who he was. Oscar tried to force his way, but she took him by surprise and slammed him into the shelves at the supermarket before she ran away.

It enraged Oscar that she would have the nerves to resist him and went so far as humiliating him. It enraged him so much that he decided that he wouldn't play nice. He wanted to spare the woman, for his business was with Asma and Asma alone. Since she humiliated him, Oscar decided to retaliate. He wouldn't spare her, he wouldn't let her live.

She would learn why Asma was so afraid of him. Since the blonde criminal and his gang of assholes was out of town, Oscar believed that getting rid of Jessica would be easy peasy. He was convinced that as soon as he would break into her home, he wouldn't spend more than 10 minutes before getting out with Asma since Goldie locks weren't home.

He thought wrong.

(all usual disclaimer)

I'm running out of patience (part 2)

It's a short little trail of thoughts (someone called it an essay <3 thank you) about anger and gender.

I suggest you read the first part!

It's already complicated to be a woman (transgender and gender fluids inclusive, it goes without saying. I don't know enough about nonbinary to add them to the mix because I do not know if, like the previous ones, have integrated the social norms regarding anger and gender)

It's even harder to be a woman of color because that anger is denied even more, even from Non-POC women. Different dynamics are at play here. One could argue that sexism doesn't see color but it does. It does so extremely well. If it didn't, do you think we would have had the "Angry Black Woman" trope? Black and Brown bodies (read non-black POCS) suffer from an even harsher form of sexism. They do not even have the luxury to be listened to or have their arguments valid because as soon as they open their mouths, they fall into that trope. If you think it's hard enough when the male benefactors of the patriarchal system use this trope to dismiss and ignore POC women's plights and demands. It's even harder and viler when female benefactors of the patriarchal system (you'd have to lace that one with white supremacy which is predominant in western societies and the pursuit of whiteness in non-westernized countries such as India or China or even some African countries who practice colorism.) These women, when opposed to exasperated black and Brown females -curiously those who request intersectionality or basic respect you know?- always fall back to the pits and folds of the comfortable trope created by white supremacy: the Angry black female.

This is another topic (when tackling feminism and the lack of intersectionality in many major white feminists movements) for another trail of thoughts, but I was using it to illustrate my previous point. To keep going, however, I'd continue with the trope and some of the conséquences easily observable if you pay attention. Some I have witnessed or experienced myself. See, there is a term that was coined to talk about the sexism towards black women: Misogynoir, which clearly underlines the violence that black women do experience both because of their gender and because of the color of the skin. Many authors and more eloquent people have tackled the issue, I suggest you do your researches. However, it has been noted, observed and experienced that the anger of women have even less sympathy when it comes from a woman of color. If it's already overlooked on their Non-POCs counterparts or disqualified as non-heroic, hysterical, unhinged then with Black and Brown women it's even worse. It's either weaponized against them " Ah, if you were hit/beaten up/ killed for speaking up it's because you are an angry black woman." or the infamous stereotypes those Hotep love to use when describing us "I don't want a black girl because she's not submissive or is out of control" (read, she has an opinion and doesn't take my bullshit). When they are not weaponized, then they are dismissed, ridiculed and swept Under the rug. " there are far more important issues than your petty ghetto argument" or "well they fight for everything and Nothing so why should we listen to them?"

You have to put things into perspective here. The problem with racism, slavery, and colonization is that it left a very huge print into people DNA. their thoughts, their behavior are direct results of these centuries of oppression. I'm not even touching the disturbing fantasy some descendant of oppressors still entertain (they would do to us what we did to them aka, murder, slavery, genocide, rape and any type of violence without retribution like we see today). I'm talking about self-hate, colorism, coons as some would call it. I'm talking about the fight to approach whiteness and be protected Under the umbrella of white privileged or just be seen as a human being with the right to look, sound, live differently. I'm talking about the criminalization of Black and Brown bodies and the justification of their murder and any types of violence. I'm talking about the systemic attempt at condemning them and tarnish their memory/reputation vs the pristine, saint, innocent Non-POC perpetrator (alleged or not). I'm talking about victim-blaming them, sexualizing their bodies, ensuring their oppression with a judicial/police partnership designed to keep them in a negative loop, the spread of stereotypes and such. When it comes down to women being angry, there is this extra discrimination and straight up hate for women of color being angry.

The sickening impact of it is that not only does their anger justify the violence they experience "she was a black bitch and she riled me up. she deserved it." and "if only she had done this/said that instead of doing this/say that, she wouldn't have been in this situation". There is an indifference surrounding their expression. they are urged to act like Mammy in Gone with the Wind and demonstrate A LOT MORE PATIENCE than it's required for Non-POC women. And this is only to be heard. (to have their demands met and fulfilled is yet another story I won't cover here)

I am sick of it. I am running out of patience and to hell with sexism and racism. To hell with that trend. I would NEVER shut up, let alone comply and submit and if that makes me an Angry black woman, then I'll own that bitch and run in these shoes! 

Patience, I am running out of it. (part 1)

I have learned two things, growing up.

Patience is most likely to be taught to girls at an early age. Patience has been attached to the gender so much that transgender people identifying as women, do give into this trope that a woman should be demure. She should always take the time to listen to the other, do the emotional labor for them, be understanding if the other (especially men) can't or won't open-up, soften-up, take their needs and desires into consideration. "Be patient, you know him. he's always a little hot-blooded", "be patient, your turn will come.", " a woman's virtue is her patience" (or some derivative bullshit). Women are less likely allowed to NOT be patient because then, they become hysterical.

They become bitchy, bossy, angry (must be their periods eh?). They become unhinged and have to be tamed. Because this is un-ladylike. This has to be stopped, this is scary. "nobody would love you Hunny if you get angry all the time" or "if you're always this impatient, it will be difficult to trust/give you something/ listen to you/etc..". A man (or people who identify as such) would more likely be listened to. An angry man usually has a reason to be angry. "He's just an honest guy. If he gets mad, it's because something unfair happened to him". You'll never hear the words "hysterical" or "Bitchy" if a man gets angry. Anger sometimes tends to be glamorized if it's from a male perspective. It often can be tied to "justice" or "heroism". The male character would suffer from an incredible trauma (usually, the death of the family) or an injustice (he was kicked out of his job despite working his ass for decades.) The character would be in his right to be angry. Audiences would connect to him because male anger (carried over by the protagonist) is relatable! Sadly enough, it also is for a female audience since we've been taught to glorify the justified anger of our heroes.

A woman, however, could never. She would always be wittier, softer, kinder than her male counterpart (unless we're in a fetish power fantasy which had female characters empowered but basically not allowed to be nuanced and have flaws). She wouldn't get angry because she's somewhat "Smarter" than the males and shouldn't resort to pure raw anger. This is a trend I call bullshit and that should stop, freaking stop. Unfortunately, why do you think this transpired to today's world and societies? We don't have to go too far to understand why. Take for example some of the women who were forced into mental institutions. Some of them were sent there because they were "hysterical" when most of the time, they just had an attitude about them. A desperate need for freedom, the guts to express their anger and derive from the norm. They were sent there to be re-assessed and forced to act like the other ladies, the "proper" ladies.

We don't have to go too far to read in the cesspool of sexist assholes you can find on the internet, to see how they react to a female in power. They feel emasculated, threatened, angry because these women have the nerves to be commanding, at times angry at them for their incompetence and just behave the way any other boss would. Why do you think rape fantasies where female characters in power are dehumanized, humiliated and brought down to their knees exist? Because anger and ultimately power in a female don't sit well with people whose model had always been patriarchy.
but the second lesson I learned, is even more frustrating.

Memento Mori

A/N Such a dark imagery summoned a new OC. This was written a few days ago, as a safe way to deal with nefarious urges. I didn't know if I should post it, but I have posted similar writings before. Of course, you can overlook this one like the previous ones, but if I'm posting, it's to help break the shame that often follows whether or not those thoughts come to fruition. It's not in order to romanticize or glamorize a situation that is already dreadful, but just a safe way for me, when I can have a little bit of control. I needed to point it out given a few very stressful messages I received a while ago for similar writings. Please, overlook if you are not interested in reading anything I post. Let me use this catharsis. Thank you.

Xxxxxxxxx

I remember you

She stood in the middle of the room, her arms outstretched from each side of her tall frame. Her jet black locks cascading down on her back. Her black eyes averted from left to right as she took in her surroundings. One large coffin, made of wood, was standing in front of her. There lied a stone sculpture of a young maiden, with her face hidden by a large veil and her hands joined in a praying gesture. The starless and cloudless sky allowed for the moon to shine brighter than it used to, casting light onto the creature that was standing in the middle of the room, which appeared to be a mausoleum. If one could pay attention, they would realize that the creature didn't have a shadow, but who was there to witness such a moment. The woman walked closer to the sculpture. Her fingers traced every curve of the marble representation of who lied within the coffin. They wiped out her name, her image, her memory for the one lying in the coffin committed the worst crime she could have. She took her own life.

I remember you, poor little soul.

As she touched the sculpture, it started to weep tears made of blood which left the woman smile faintly as her fingers moved over to the coffin. After all these years it was a miracle it was even there. Most coffins were pillaged by scavengers. Bones were sold to universities so they could study anatomy. The clothes and jewelry were sold as well. If it happened that the corpse still had hair, they would shave it and make a wig out of it to sell. The young woman's coffin was intact. Not broken, not even dusty. It felt as if she had been buried there just yesterday. While the sculpture kept on weeping blood tears, the creature that came to visit kept running her fingers through the heavy coffin. She remembered the one buried here, despite every desperate attempt at making the dead erased from history. Her life wasn't an easy one. It was full of violence and pain. It was a life full of self-hate and desperate meaningless attempt at surviving. The poor girl couldn't find the light. She couldn't hear the compliments, she couldn't feel the love. She couldn't see the good she was doing around herself. She couldn't heal. Poor soul. A bleeding wound that walked among other humans, unnoticed from those who claimed to be her kin, preserving those she chose to be her family and keeping her suffering to herself. She held onto her pain as if it was a treasure and died.

I remember your pain, excruciating, debilitating pain.

There was a lot of anger in that soul of hers. Anger towards herself, which always manifested in self-inflicted injuries. They would always be small, easy to hide and would often go unnoticed. Then you had the self-inflicted mental abuse. The one that followed and sometimes happened at the same time as the one she never asked for. Her heart broke so many times because of herself. Her absent sense of value, her lack of self-compassion and self-appreciation. There was a lot of anger in that soul of hers. One she couldn't direct to the people who truly hurt her and that consumed her. There was a lot of pain and blood and Death. Death became a companion of her. One she lived with almost her whole life. The sirens never stopped singing praises in hope to lure the young girl in. Death always offered her a friendly comfort, in telling her that she was the only one to truly care about her. She always offered a friendly presence, one that never left her. She was there, in the pictures of dead people the girl stared at for hours, finding a weird strange peace or feeling envious of the end of their suffering. She was there, when the girl pictured herself away, into the void, a place where she would feel nothing. She comforted her when the girl cried in the darkness of her room or in the emptiness of her heart, claiming that even if she joined her, the world would keep on spinning around. People wouldn't mourn for her, she would be forgotten, life would prevail.

It consumed you, til the very end. Didn't it?

The appeal was strong. There were days, Death came close to welcome her friend but always, something, someone, kept the girl from joining her. It didn't matter. It was just a matter of time before finally, she embraced her friend in one warm hug. It wouldn't be this terrible now, would it? How could one who feels like she didn't matter and never would, find a way to move on? How could one who kept hurting herself, in hopes that it would make the pain of being alive stop, live? Where was the appeal? She lost the appeal to keep going a long time ago. She went from day to day, wishing she wasn't breathing and enduring it for the sake of others. She could be dead for all she cared, others, loved ones, kept her alive. Loved ones drove her towards the edge as well. Those she kept on loving despite them not returning those feelings back. And a feeling of betrayal overwhelmed her. How could one live when they didn't even have an identity? When being themselves was forbidden by the very people who put you on this Earth? How do you disengage emotionally from people you are supposed to love and who are supposed to want you and love you back? How can you heal from being broken ever since you were born? Who are you? The image of yourself you've tried to be or the one those who made you breathe had of you? Questions without answers, a pain without end. It ate her up and she couldn't tell. How could she explain? It didn't help that people she used to trust, betrayed that trust and hurt her. It didn't help that her body had been beaten up and violated so many times or that she nearly died but it was brushed off by people around her. People save for her loved on.. the one and only..the other half of her lungs who believed her straight away? It didn't help her in loving herself. She was disposable. She was stupid. She was an embarrassment for everyone, including herself. She was a nobody.

How does it feel now? To be free?

The creature remembered that poor soul, as her fingers still traced the coffin's simple arabesques sculpted on. She remembered the shame, the self-loathing for feeling weak, for feeling helpless. She remembered the young soul berating herself for not being able to handle more suffering. She remembered standing on her toes and weighing whether joining her friend or enduring more pain to see how far she could go. How much she could endure. Each surviving week became one more adventure. Something to brag about "Hey, look how much of a badass survivor I am. I could take it one more week." But it was all masquerades and schemes. It was all running towards danger while ignoring all the red flags. Everything was fine, everything would always be fine. If she was asked what duel took place in her head, she would reply that a peace-treaty was signed. If she was asked if the hole in her heart was fixed, she would simply nod because words couldn't hide well enough how it truly was. Torment....eternal torment.. a never ending cycle of self-doubt and blind eyes to the simplest needs, the simplest urges. We all do want love, don't we? We all do need warmth, don't we? She pretended she didn't because when she did, it only hurt. Betrayals, making fool of herself and other rejections had won a battle she was too tired to lead. It wouldn't work, so why bother?

How does it feel now? To be alive again?

The creature felt tears come up to her eyes. She hadn't cried in what seemed to be millennia. As blood stained the wooden coffin, the memories of that young girl resurfaced. The most violent ones. The least pleasant. The night she decided to join Mistress Death, she couldn't handle the pain no more. Living had always been a burden, but she always kept going because she had a sense of duty. A relative, a friend. She promised to all of them to hang in there, but not to herself. Herself wasn't there, she already was dead. After so long for living for others, maintaining herself alive so they could see her smile, or try to. She just couldn't. The usual means to soothe her soul didn't work anymore, the burden she had been carrying for years was too heavy so she couldn't move. She was stuck there, slowly but surely suffocating to Death. Nothing she tried worked. She wasn't who she tried to be, still lost after all those years of not living. It all became clear. Why being a burden to those around? those who couldn't help. Those who would never know how to help and would blame themselves for something they couldn't change? for a soul, they couldn't save? Why being a burden and a waste of space and skin and air... when you simply could not be? She kept writing about it, about her leaving. About her disappearing and finally did so. Was it painless? No. She wasn't smart enough, so obviously, she chose wrong. She opted for something she had been doing already for years without meaning it until she found the strength to. And in agonizing hours, she finally gave in. She died.

Free from this world, yet bound to it still

Nobody remembered her. They made it clear so she would disappear. Soon enough the tears stopped falling. The pain was gone. Soon enough, those who used to know her simply forgot or met their end over the years. Soon enough, she simply became yet another unnamed grave. The creature leaned against the coffin for a while, weeping her soul out for this fallen beauty. One who never quite knew why she was allowed to breathe in the first place. She noticed a pendant that had been hidden in the flower pot near the coffin. This time since there were no flowers, she could notice the item. As she retrieved and opened it, she realized it was a portrait. A portrait of the one in the coffin. A portrait of a young woman, no older than 29. A portrait of herself. She came to weep the tears for herself, to remind herself that she didn't forget her. She might have found peace in the afterlife, she still was bound to Earth and to the tears she never knew those who loved her would weep. She made herself a promise before she went away. She promised herself that if nobody was there for her, then she would weep. She would weep for her death as if it meant something as if her life meant something and she always kept that promise ever since.

Free from this world, free to be /me/